Sandstorms
by Nini the Electrocuted Sheep
Summary: Egypt. Desert. School trip. Girl gets lost. Girl gets rescued. By whom, you ask? Why, by Ardeth Bey, of course! It’s a silly little thing that I wrote – just because I could :P ONE-SHOT, COMPLETE


**Authoress's note: **hello! My first Mummy fic. Please be nice. If you don't, I'll send my purple plot bunnies over to torture you. No, I'm kidding. But at least don't flame. I know it's stilly. This story, while it has a tiny bit of plot, is completely pointless. I have acknowledged the fact. You don't have to do it for me. I know it isn't really possible, what with the timeline and today's mess here in the Middle-East... which is exactly why I'm writing it. I need a break!! X(

**Rating:** um... PG? There's only 'shit' a few times.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Ardeth or the Medjai. It all belongs to Stephen Sommers and Universal Studios. Don't rub it in!

* * *

And now... I give you:

**_Sandstorms_**

I sighed. January, and I was melting in my seat. I mean, come on, January in Israel is already at east a bit cold. But noooo, the week of the school trip, the country had to be hit by a heat-wave. Great. Juuuust perfect. The _one_ trip...

You see, schools in Israel aren't very rich. We're a small country, what can I say? Sure, there's always the museums or the smaller trips here and there, but once a year, we get a serious school trip. And for our last (thank God) year of high school, they'd decided to give us a little something special. They'd take us abroad.

No, not a plane. We get a bus. Sure, it's just Egypt – practically next door – but come _on_. Could we at least get some normal AC? It was a full day's drive. Everybody was (supposedly) on the bus at six o'clock, and by eight we were on the way to the Egyptian sands. Everybody had their passports and their school cards (don't ask...), as well as a small amount of Egyptian cash we'd been allowed to have nestled in our bags. I was waiting eagerly for Cairo's markets.

But this heat, God! And we'd only just crossed the border into Egypt. There was still another five-hour drive to Cairo. I took out my bottle of water and took a sip, splashing some onto my face. This was going to be a _loooooong_ drive.

I was jolted out of my nap (which I don't remember slipping into) when the bus lurched to a stop. It was already dark outside. I groaned as I hefted myself out of the seat, yawning widely. The old-fashioned hotel loomed in front of us, lit with old oil-lamps. I grinned. A shower, dinner, and then straight to bed.

---

The next day we were woken up relatively early and prepared for a camel-trip out on the sands. I'd ridden a horse a few times, but camels were different. They have this kind of swaying motion, because of their long legs, I think.

By the time the whole class was lined up in front of the camels, I was already sweating. This damned heat wave ... God, I was melting. Finally, it was time to mount. I laughed to myself as, one by one, the camels lowered themselves onto their bellies. We were each helped onto the cloth-saddled mounts, and half of us screamed as, with a word from the farm owner, the camels jerked up to stand. It really was quite scary: first they camel straightened its back legs, giving me the feeling that I was about to fall off forward. Then it straightened its front legs, making me tip backwards. Finally straight, I gulped in a few deep breaths. Just when my heart had settled down and returned to its rightful place in my chest, one of the farm owner's helpers gave my camel's flank a slap, sending it trotting along the line.

My heart dropped to my toes again.

After a few minuets I got used to the hot, swaying motion, and actually started to enjoy the ride. There was a decidedly better view from atop the camel; I could see all around us (except for the camel farm, which had by now diminished into a smudge on the horizon) desert dunes, looking exactly alike from all directions. I shuddered slightly – imagine getting lost in the desert; it would be impossible to find your way: everything looked the same.

The ride was long and hot. I longed to tear my bandana off my head – but I couldn't do that; my hair is dark, and I couldn't leave my head uncovered, lest my brains get fried. And besides, the bandana was the only thing keeping my hair up – if I let it down I'd feel even hotter. So I sighed and fished my water-bottle from my bag, which hung swinging securely from the saddle, taking a few sips.

It was about that time that we heard one of the assistant boys give a yell. The word he had shouted was echoed all the way from the front of the line to the back, where I was seated: "_Sandstorm!!_"

I blinked. Shit. This was not good.

"Everybody, hold on tight!" shouted the farm owner, as he ran from the front of the line to the back, hitting each camel's flank with a rod as he passed. The camels lurched forward, following the first camel in a semi-circle and back towards the farm, now running quite quickly. I held on for dear life. Camels run no slower than horses!

Somehow, my camel and I ended up at the back of the line. I looked back once and saw, just at the horizon, a wall of sand coming towards us. If we kept this pace, I was sure we'd reach the farm in time to get inside somewhere safe.

And just as that thought passed through my mind, the camel lurched to a halt, one front leg buckling underneath it. I screamed as I tumbled forward and off its back, landing hard in the sand. All the air rushed out of my lungs and I tried to stand up – meanwhile the camel had managed to get its leg under it and was running off. I flew to my feet and tried to chase the damned thing, screaming for it to stop. The wind screamed around me, whistling in my ears, as though taunting me, telling me that while it howled as loudly as it wanted, I was silenced.

I suddenly noticed that it was rather dark around me. I looked up to see the sun already blocked by a cloud of sand. I cursed and whirled around. My hand went to my forehead as another stream of colourful swearwords erupted from my mouth.

The wall of sand was coming right at me.

Somehow I had the sense to jerk my bandana down and around so it covered my nose and mouth. I looked around, desperately searching for some shelter from the sandstorm. But it was too late – I was already surrounded by sand. The fine grains stung in my eyes and found their way beneath my clothing. I stumbled blindly, hoping to find some rocks or a tree – something, anything to hold on to. I swear the wind was practically solid with sand. But there was nothing. I was alone on a bare stretch of land, with nothing around me but kilometers of sand.

I was knocked to the ground and stayed there, crying, curled up in fetal position and shielding my head in my hands. I couldn't help but think I was going to die. Would I be missed? Would my parents and sisters mourn my death? Would my friends cry when they realized I was missing in the camel-farm? Would anybody search for me? Would my body ever be found, buried under a sand dune in the deserts of Egypt?

---

I was so surprised to open my eyes that I promptly closed them again. Needless to say, I hadn't really expected to be alive. I'm pessimistic like that. I didn't believe in any sort of afterlife either, so I sighed mentally and accepted the fact that I was alive – with a silent thank you to whoever or _what_ever it was that had kept me alive. Then I opened my eyes again.

The first thing I noticed was that I was someplace inside. Somewhere low. Probably a tent, by the slope of the ceiling. And yes, I was lying down. I looked around and my gaze fell upon a woman, swathed in a dark robe and veiled, only her bright dark eyes showing, surrounded by wrinkles. I blinked. She seemed to smile at me; then she stood up and exited the tent. I sat up, pushing back the heavy wool blanket that covered me, wondering where I was.

The tent flap opened and the woman returned, accompanied by a tall man. He too was dressed in long black robes, and a black turban covered his head. I could see markings on his face – swirling kinds of tattoos that sat in a mirror-image on each of his cheeks, and hieroglyphs on his forehead. The next thing I saw was the long, curved sword at his belt – a scimitar. My eyes widened.

The man followed my gaze, and he grinned at me slightly. Then he said something in Arabic. I shook my head and said, "La arifu Arabiya." (_don't know Arabic_). I had taken four years of Arabic at school – that much was mandatory – but that had been in years 7th through 10th, and two years had gone by since then. Usually, I'm very good at languages, and considering how similar Arabic is to Hebrew – which is my native tongue – it should be a piece of cake. But I can't help it; I don't like the Arabic language.

I don't care much for Arabs either. I mean, it was very nice of them to get me out of that sandstorm, but for all I knew, they could be just waiting to rape me. It's pretty inevitable to not like them – how many nights have I been horrified at the latest bus explosion, the latest suicide bomber on the evening news?

"Oh God, what am I going to do now?" I muttered to myself.

Hearing me speak, the man smiled and said, "Ah, Hebrew! Excellent." He spoke well, with just a hint of an accent. "How are you feeling?"

"Um. Fine, thanks. Did you – I mean ..." I settled for: "Where am I?" which came out a raspy whisper, my throat burning as if full of sand. It probably was, I thought dryly. I was about to ask if I could have some water, but before I'd gotten a single raspy word out he was sitting on the carpeted floor next to me, offering me a water canteen. I took it hesitantly.

"Drink," he ordered gently. I drank, the water clearing my throat enough to allow me to say, "Thank you."

He nodded and took the canteen back, storing it somewhere in his robes.

"Where am I?" I asked again. "Who are you?"

"My name is Ardeth Bey," he said. "And yours?"

I told him my name, however uneasily. "So, what am I doing here? Where am I, is this some Bedouin camp?"

Ardeth Bey shook his head. "Not exactly. It is a camp, but we are Medjai."

"Medjai?" I frowned. "Aren't those some non-existent desert tribe of warriors who served as a police in the Egyptian middle-ages or something?"

"More or less that, yes." He seemed somewhat puzzled at my knowledge.

"And – oh, shit. How long have I been here?"

"You were found unconscious in the middle of a sandstorm. That was perhaps six hours ago."

"Oh. Well, that's not as bad as I'd thought. Six hours... they'll have noticed I'm missing by now. I hope."

"How _did_ you come to be in the middle of that storm?"

I sighed. "My class is here on a school trip from Israel. We were riding camels... and mine... well, I fell off." Ardeth suppressed a chuckle. "It wasn't my fault!" I cried indignantly. "The stupid thing stumbled and practically threw me off!"

This time Ardeth's laugh did burst out, loud and rich and deep. It was a nice laugh – warm and reassuring. It made me smile; after all, the situation was rather ridiculous. "All right, all right," I grinned at him. "Pipe down. It is a bit funny, I admit, but I still am lost." I stood up. "Now, where are we?"

Ardeth stood up and strode to the tent flap, beckoning me outside. It was nighttime already, but the moon was near-full and lit the night up, turning the roiling dunes to waves of silver and reflecting off the surface of the pool in the middle of the oasis.

"Wow," I breathed. Then it hit me just how clichéd I had sounded. But it was still a very nice view. My fingers itched to pick up my camera and photograph it. But then I remembered the circumstances: I was in a Bedouin camp – Medjai, Medjai camp; I was still having a hard time digesting the fact that they actually existed. I'd stumbled upon the word once in an old, outdated Egyptian-history book, and I just liked the way it sounded. So I looked it up, and even though there was very little written information on them, I managed to glean a few facts. I mean, it's interesting, non-existent tribes.

But I was in the middle of the desert without my backpack, and therefore with no means by which to capture the amazing scene. I sighed. Ardeth gave me an inquiring look. I gestured at the desert before us. "It's just so beautiful ... I wish I could photograph it."

"Ah," he nodded. "I understand." He smiled slightly, almost ruefully. "It is nice to meet someone new who appreciates the beauty of the desert."

"Any landscape can be beautiful; that's one thing I've learned. The desert is no exception. It's actually got a double beauty – it's so different during the day and night."

"Yes, that is true," he said. "The desert is very versatile. Wind, sand, heat."

"And cold," I muttered, wrapping my arms around myself. I was wearing short clothes – good for as long as the sun was up and it was hot, but now that it was night, I was shivering.

"You are not dressed appropriately for the desert's nights." He shed his robe – his outer robe, I realized once it was off – and draped it over my shoulders. "You must be careful; the temperatures can drop drastically once the sun has set."

"Um. Thank you," I said, pulling the robe around me. It smelled of sand and sweat and earth, and that musky scent that was pure man. But it was warm, and I grinned at the Medjai. "Such a gentleman."

I couldn't help it; I knew he was a man, an Arab I'd only known for perhaps thirty minuets, but he had such an air of calm and warmth about him – I could practically sense his integrity. This was a man who lived to protect others. Just by looking at him – his stance, his face, his weapons – I could see that he was capable of being a vicious killer, but also of being kind and gentle. I knew I was safe.

But I still didn't feel so well about staying the night. I checked my watch. 22:43. I have to admit, I liked Ardeth, but I wondered if I had the guts to ask him to somehow get me to Cairo. I did, after all, have no idea where I was, whereas Ardeth, I was sure, knew exactly where we were.

"Um, Ardeth? Mr. Bey?" I chanced.

"It's Commander Bey, actually," he winked at me. "But you may call me Ardeth."

I grinned at him. "Well, Ardeth. I was wondering if you could, by any chance, get me back to Cairo...?"

He looked up at the sky, at the nearly full moon and the glittering stars. "It is late. Are you sure you could handle the journey to Cairo?"

"How far is it?"

"Five hours by horse, approximately."

"Hmm. Well, that's not so bad. Could you, ah, take me there?" I asked, suddenly timid. He looked at me sternly.

"It is a hard ride. Are you sure you are not tired?"

"Well, I was unconscious for six hours, right? I had plenty of rest." I grinned cheekily at him.

"Very well," he nodded.

"I don't suppose anyone happened to find my bag out there, did they?" I asked hopefully.

Ardeth shook his head. "I didn't exactly stay and look around. I had to get you out of the storm as soon as possible."

"It was you who got me out of there?" He nodded. "Thank you."

"It is my duty as Medjai to help those who are in need. You could have been killed in that sandstorm."

"I really could have," I nodded. "But lucky for me, you came along."

"Yes, you were quite lucky. Now, come with me. If you wish to get to Cairo at a reasonable time, we had better get on our way."

"Right. Coming." I followed him around the tent, where we came upon a tall black stallion, standing quietly behind it. I took a moment to admire its beauty, the strong legs and proud mane, before Ardeth jumped into the saddle and offered me a hand. He hoisted me up to sit before him, between his arms as he held the reigns. Gently kicking his heels into the horse's flanks, he spurred it into a quick gallop, and we were off.

---

The ride to Cairo was pretty uneventful. We rode in silence for most of the time, as the horse sped over the dunes and sands. I suppose I must have dozed off after all, because I was suddenly aware of one of Ardeth's hands around my waist, holding me steady in the saddle. Shaking myself awake, I could see, looming up ahead, the bulky shadows and bright lights of Egypt's capital city. I turned around in my seat to look at Ardeth over my shoulder. He smiled at me.

"And to think you boasted of having gotten enough rest," he teased.

"Eh, well," I grinned back at him. "I guess I was still a bit tired. I did experience a traumatic ordeal, after all."

"Oh?" Ardeth's voice was still tinged with amusement.

"Yes, I got lost in the desert and caught in a sandstorm and I was sure I was going to die."

Ardeth's laugh was lost in the wind.

---

Ardeth dropped me off in front of the hotel, refusing point blank to let me walk through the city. It was, after all nearly five in the morning, and the streets weren't exactly empty; he said he hadn't rescued me from a sandstorm to leave me in Cairo's streets to be raped or robbed. I had thought people might stare at us, but no-one seemed to think that a man cloaked in black, riding through the city with a seventeen-year old girl in front of him in the saddle, was anything special.

I slid off the saddle and stood before the hotel on slightly shaky legs. Ardeth stood beside me for a moment, making sure I was all right. I smiled up at him and thanked him, even giving him a quick peck on the cheek before he mounted his horse and rode off.

I'll never forget my last sight of him: sitting atop his black stallion, he brought his hand to his lips, then to his forehead, saluting me in what I supposed was Medjai tradition. Then he disappeared around the corner. I smiled, heaved a sigh, and pushed open the hotel's door.

I found my homeroom teacher, the headmistress, and the camel-farm owner sitting in the lobby, cradling in their hands either paper cups of coffee or their heads (or in the owner's case, a glass of liquor).

"Um," I said, "have you all been waiting up for me?"

I swear they sat there staring at me for a full minuet. Then they exploded. Everybody talked at once – myself included. Finally, when we had all talked our heads off, the headmistress herded me towards the hotel's reception desk and handed me the receiver, instructing me to call home and tell my parents I was okay. Once that was done, she sat me down and demanded an explanation.

"Well it's that stupid camel's fault! I was at the end of the line when the sandstorm was coming our way. It stumbled and bucked me off... I got lost in the storm for a while."

"A sandstorm like that one should have killed you," said the farm owner.

"I'm sure it would have..." I paused for a second, trying to come up with a believable story. I couldn't after all, tell them I'd been rescued by a commander of a legendary, supposedly non-existent tribe. I didn't want them to think I'd lost my mind out there. I thought back on what I could use. The bus had taken a smaller side-road in order to get to the camel farm. Good. I could tell them I'd hitchhiked.

I took a deep breath. "I managed to get to the main road somehow..."

---

Out in the Egyptian sands, Commander Ardeth Bey of the Medjai noticed there was something hanging from the reigns of his horse. Upon closer inspection, he found it to be a red bandana. He smiled and left it there.

It was the season of the sandstorms out on the desert.


End file.
